The Protest
by Teobi
Summary: Gordon and Tin-Tin are fed up with being left behind. (Original series.)


Written on a mobile app, uploaded on a phone, based on the original series and dedicated to Mon Ammy, the original Gordon Girl. Thank you for being a friend!

The Protest

For Gordon Tracy, there were few sadder words than, "No Gordon, not you". Now he was hearing them again as Scott and Virgil raced to their 'birds. He went to the balcony windows to watch the swimming pool slide back, keeping the frown from his face in front of his father. Jeff was explaining why they didn't need Thunderbird 4 on this mission but Gordon was only half listening. He'd heard it all before.

Thunderbird 1 shook the ground, rising into the air atop a plume of smoke. In seconds she was a dot in the sky, sun winking on her flanks. Scott got to go on every rescue. He was the most qualified pilot and the quickest thinker. His thought process was so rapid he often didn't finish one sentence before beginning another. There was no point being angry at Scott for his natural advantages.

The shaking became a solid rumble as TB2 beetled to her launch pad. John was in the copilot's seat this time. Their flaxen haired brother was down from TB5 for a month so Gordon didn't begrudge him this outing, but he couldn't help wishing they had more missions where water was involved.

With the 'birds on their way, Gordon went to the kitchen to scrounge a comforting morsel or two. A bucket of fried chicken and a gallon of cookie dough ice cream might possibly smooth a few edges, although the pain went so deep he might need one of Grandma's legendary Mississippi Mud Pies as well. Tin-Tin was making coffee, a scarf tied on her head and an apron around her waist. She looked like a canteen girl from the 1940s.

"Hello, Gordon," she said with her lovely tinkling water fountain voice. "Would you like a cup of coffee? I'm making a pot for your father."

Gordon opened the huge refrigerator. "No thanks," he mumbled. He began pulling out cheese and cooked meats and a big jar of mayonnaise, slamming them onto the counter with more force than necessary.

Tin-Tin waited a few moments. She listened to Gordon grumbling about Scott eating the last of the apple pie, "*does he think he's the only one who gets hungry*?" and questioning the purpose of curly kale. "*I guess John likes it but he's always been weird*."

"If you touch it you eat it," she said at last.

Gordon grabbed a handful of curly kale and shoved it into his mouth. "Happy?"

Tin-Tin arranged mugs on a tray. "I'm not in the least bit bothered. I don't care whether you're sulking or not."

Gordon went to the sink and spat out the kale. Half-chewed green ribbons hung from the taps and splattered the sides of the basin. "I'm not sulking. I'm just hungry. Can't a man make a sandwich without a woman chiming in?" He wiped kale juice from his chin and turned around.

"You're sulking, Gordon Tracy. I don't know why. If anyone should be sulking because they can't go on a rescue, it's me. I'm a qualified engineer and the best mathematician of all of you except Brains and look at me, stuck in the kitchen making coffee." She resisted the urge to bang Jeff's coffee cup onto a tray and set it down gently instead, which to Gordon seemed more ominous somehow. But, sensing an ally for the cause, he returned to the makings of his giant comfort sandwich with renewed purpose.

"They don't know when they're going to need Thunderbird Four. I should go, just in case there's a flash flood or something."

"In the Atacama Desert?"

"You never know. Remember that tornado in Switzerland? They were still finding cows in trees three weeks later."

"You still get to go on more rescues than me."

"But you're-" Gordon bit his sentence in half and swallowed the rest.

"I'm what? Go on, Gordon. I'm what?" Tin-Tin leaned towards him with her arms folded. 'Say what you were going to say."

Gordon shrugged, picking at the wrapping on a slice of cheese. "You're needed here. You know, to help Brains in the lab and stuff."

"Like I'm doing now?"

Gordon smiled wryly. "We've both been shafted I guess."

Tin-Tin glared at the coffee maker. "Brains doesn't get asked to make refreshments."

"He's smart enough to stay in his office."

"I suppose I don't help myself by offering. '*Would you like some coffee, Mr. Tracy*?'"

Gordon grinned at Tin-Tin's whiny tone. "You asked me if I wanted coffee too."

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes. "You see? Years of conditioning have turned me into a servant." She flung her arms out dramatically. "A servant! Bound to this family by my ability to boil water!"

"We should protest!" Gordon waved the cheese slice for emphasis.

"We should!"

"One, two, three, four! What do we want? Thunderbird Four!"

"One, two, three, four! I won't make coffee any more!"

"We need placards."

"I'm going to burn my..." Tin-Tin paused, eyeing the sudden lump in Gordon's throat. "... apron!" She untied it and threw it on the floor.

Gordon began rifling through drawers, clattering and banging, leaving them all half open as he moved around the kitchen. "Where are the Sharpies Grandma uses for her recipe board?"

"Next to her recipe board," said Tin-Tin, pointing to the box of felt tipped pens standing neatly on the counter.

Gordon grabbed the box. "Cardboard. I need cardboard!"

Tin-Tin pointed to a cupboard labelled 'Recycling'.

"Thanks, Tin-Tin. I'd be lost without you."

"Quite," she said in the same unimpressed tone.

Slamming several flattened packaging boxes on the counter, Gordon popped the top off a black Sharpie and began writing. "One. Two. Three. Four. What do we want? THUNDERBIRD 4." He held up the sign to show Tin-Tin.

"Very nice. Just one question. What's a Thundrbir?"

"I ran out of space."

"Write smaller."

"Then Dad won't see it."

"I assure you he will."

Gordon shrugged. "He'll know what it means. The message is important, not the spelling."

He began scrawling another sign. "Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Gordon Tracy is the great! Est," he muttered, adding the suffix in smaller letters underneath.

Tin-Tin slapped her forehead.

"What is it this time?" he asked in frustration.

"'Grodon'? Seriously? GRODON?"

Gordon studied the sign. "Oh, gee. I guess I spelled my name wrong. Well, never mind. The message is clear!"

"The message that Gordon Tracy can't spell his own name is *very* clear."

Gordon grinned impishly. "If anyone says anything I'll tell them you wrote it."

Tin-Tin tipped her head to one side and pulled a face. "My writing is a million times neater than that."

"Okay, you write one then. If you're done making Dad's coffee, that is."

Tin-Tin stomped over and snatched the pen from Gordon's hand. Pursing her lips, she slid a sheet of cardboard over and began writing.

'EQUAL RIGHTS FOR WOMEN' she wrote in all caps, then added lines to make the letters appear 3D and shading to give them solidity. She used different coloured markers to give the sign a squiggly border, holding five of them at once as she worked her way around. She even drew a few flowers.

"Impressive," said Gordon, looking in vain for nonexistent mistakes.

"Better than yours."

"No one likes a showoff, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin smiled sweetly. "That's why no one likes you, then."

"Give me that pen, smartass," said Gordon, then stopped talking and went wide eyed. "Maybe I can't spell but I sure can hear, and I can hear Dad coming!"

He and Tin-Tin scrambled to hide their signs and other paraphernalia in the nearest floor level cupboard. When Jeff arrived they were back at their coffee and sandwich stations respectively, smiling and slightly sweaty, hoping the cupboard they'd chosen didn't burst open and deposit protest signs all over Jeff's feet.

"How's the coffee going, Tin-Tin? I hope Gordon isn't distracting you." Jeff cast an eye over the contents of Gordon's expanding sandwich. "Don't forget to leave some food for the rest of us," he said jovially.

"I'm sorry Mr. Tracy," said Tin-Tin, picking up the apron she'd cast aside in disgust.

"Oh, don't apologise. I was merely checking. Throat gets a little dry keeping up with the boys."

Tin-Tin arranged the tray and picked it up. "I'll carry it through for you, Mr. Tracy. How is the rescue progressing?"

"Oh, fine. Pretty routine, no lives lost. Seems the avalanche wasn't as bad as they thought it would be. The village was spared, just a barn or two demolished, they even managed to evacuate all the animals."

Gordon followed Jeff and Tin-Tin into the lounge, munching his sandwich and leaving a trail of crumbs in his wake. Across the room, both Scott and Virgil's wall screens were lit up. Gordon settled himself into a nearby chair and almost choked when he saw the state of his brothers. Scott was so filthy you couldn't see his face and Virgil looked like the creature from the black lagoon covered in slime. Both of them were matted with straw and some disgusting looking brownish green matter. Both looked very disgruntled.

"What the hell happened?" Gordon thumped himself on the chest to help some food go down.

Jeff settled behind his desk and gratefully accepted a steaming mug from Tin-Tin. "Scott fell into a pile of manure." He blew on the coffee and took a sip. "Ahhhh, that hit the spot," he declared, closing his eyes.

"And Virgil?"

"Fell in while trying to pull Scott out."

Gordon felt a tsunami of mirth rising inside of him as Scott blinked a fly out of his eyes and wiped dung from his face with his equally dirty sleeve.

"What about John?" Gordon hoped the same fate had befallen the most elegant of his brothers.

"Complaining about the smell, mostly."

Gordon finally let out a burst of laughter. "The three little pigs," he spluttered.

"Oh, you'll be laughing when we get home," said Scott, trying his best to sound gruff and failing miserably.

"Oink oink," said Gordon.

"It's horse dung, not pig dung," said Jeff, which made Gordon laugh louder.

"Technically, it's donkey dung," said Scott. "And some mule dung. I really can't say they smell any different."

"You poor things," said Tin-Tin, although she too was struggling with a tide of merriment. "Shall I run you all a steaming bath?"

Gordon howled. "They sure are steaming!"

John's face appeared behind Virgil. There was a streak of mud across his brow and his normally perfect hair was all over the place. "I'm not getting in Thunderbird Two with this smell," he complained.

"You'll have to walk home then," said Virgil.

"I'll ride in the pod."

"You can ride on the roof for all I care."

"Now, boys," said Jeff as though they were all still eight years old.

"Wait until we get home," said John. "You'll see what I'm talking about."

"Scott's smelled worse," said Virgil. "That time he ended up in the garbage can at Bob and Tony's farm."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that. Oh well at least horse muck is mostly oats and grass, I suppose I could stand it for the duration."

"Donkey muck," corrected Scott. "Muck that's passed through the bowels of a donkey."

"Ugh," said John, turning pale. "Back to square one."

"Come on home, boys," said Jeff with a fatherly smile. "Get cleaned up and take a dip in the pool."

"F.A.B," said Scott, gratefully, and the three of them signed out.

Tin-Tin and Gordon left the lounge and went back to the kitchen, holding their sides with laughter. Once there, they slumped to the floor next to the cupboard that held their handwritten placards.

"That was priceless!"

"Did you see the shit on Scott's head?!"

"Did you see John's *face*?"

"Gosh I bet they reek!"

"Nose pegs are go!"

Gordon gave Tin-Tin his best side-eye. "This is one mission I'm *glad* I didn't get to join."

"Me too."

"Still want equal rights?"

"Not *that* equal."

They clambered to their feet and pulled the placards out of the cupboard.

"What about our protest?" Gordon asked.

"What protest? I'm going to put another pot of coffee on and make some apple pies. Where's my apron gone?" Tin-Tin began bustling merrily about the kitchen.

"These are way too good to waste though," said Gordon. "Well, *yours* is."

Tin-Tin looked over. "It's not bad if I say so myself. I like these swirly bits and the flowers are quite arty."

"It's a masterpiece. We'll keep it."

"For the next time we have a rescue mission in Monte Carlo," Tin-Tin said.

And they both laughed.

The end.


End file.
